From the sprawling market that adjoins my home, the requisites for me attaining that which I desire regularly – cashews – are as follows (with a warning that this can be a tortuous task):
1. The woman who sells them, a fruit and vegetable vendor often found asleep in a hammock suspended from a structure that is her small stall, needs to have desired cashews in stock.
2. Said woman needs to be in said stall. On various occasions, I have trekked there, through puddles of water and bloody fish remains, only to find her absent; often her neighbours, some engrossed in high-stakes card games, are entirely unaware of her whereabouts or her planned time of return.
3. Said woman, if present and in possession of said cashews, needs to be awake and not deeply engrossed in midday slumber in said hammock. Considering the small space in which she has to operate, the woman should be commended for the comfort she has extracted from a hammock that hangs at such a peculiar angle. Small comfort for me, though, as it is often difficult to wake her.
Written in: 2015